


all is a blank before us

by thingbe



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Honeymoon, M/M, Marriage, Post-Star Trek Beyond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 12:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12748737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingbe/pseuds/thingbe
Summary: If there’s ever going to be a time where Jim just lets himself be happy, it’s damn well going to be on his honeymoon.





	all is a blank before us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kinneys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneys/gifts).



> As always, endless thanks to kinneys and rainbowcasoup for all of their help - especially kinneys, without whom this fic wouldn't even exist, let alone resemble the end result before you. Title is from the poem 'Darest Thou Now, O Soul' by Walt Whitman.

Jim pulls away, smiles; he kisses Bones through it before he’s sitting upright, resting his weight on his knees on either side of Bones’ hips. He folds his universe down to just this – himself, Bones, the stretch of forever in front of them – and focuses every sense, carving the moment into his heart. He carefully catalogues every piece of it: the way his fingers slip together with Bones’ and the thrill, even now, in the smaller details of the touch – the softness of Bones’ skin as Jim runs his thumb back and forth from wrist to thumb, the faint thrumming of their pulses so close to be indistinguishable, the sudden shift in texture from skin to a body-warm ring against the side of his finger. The smell, the taste, the sound – of Bones, of afternoon coffee still on his tongue, of their breathing and how it’s almost like music when it’s the only sound in the room. But more than anything, it’s this sight he commits to his memory, constructing an image piece by piece by piece.

The bed is standard for this kind of hotel, plain white sheets and all – including, of course, a completely unnecessary number of pillows. Normally those are the first to go, stacked neatly and conscientiously on a nearby chair by Bones, galactic record-holder for Strongest Opinions About Neck Support. They’d become too thoroughly distracted earlier to follow their usual settling-in routines, however, and the sight of them still on the bed is something of a novelty. A novelty which Jim is rapidly learning to appreciate; Bones looks practically decadent, shirtless and reclining against the small mountain of cushions, his hair mussed and chaotic, his lips red and cheeks flushed. The look he gives Jim is somewhere halfway between ‘ _see something you like?_ ’ and ‘ _what in hell’s name is going through that fool head of yours?_ ’, communicated via lifted eyebrow and barely-there smile. If Jim’s learned anything over the years, it’s that McCoys can pack entire odysseys into a single glance.

Jim’s smile widens, and Bones’ eyebrow climbs higher. Instead of following to the kind of positive feedback loop they tend to default to, trading raised eyebrows for growing smiles, Jim brings their interlocked fingers up to where he can kiss the ring on Bones’ finger, his palm, his wrist. Bones’ right hand finds a steady grip on Jim’s hip as his left rests on Jim’s jaw, and in the space of a heartbeat his expression is something softer, something that pulls raw feeling from Jim’s heart and for a moment it’s more than he knows what to do with; so he takes a slow, shaky breath, leans back down, and kisses Bones’ smile. Neither the hand on his face nor the hand on his hip moves an inch, those sure and steady surgeon’s hands keeping him solid as a frantic desperation rises in his chest, sparks, and dissipates.

Jim pulls back again after a moment, smiles when Bones strains up to follow him but keeps moving back, taking the hand on his face in his own again. His eyes sweep down and back up, slowly, his smile growing as he takes in every detail all over again. “Hey there, beautiful,” he says a second later, meeting Bones’ eyes. “Come here often?”

Bones chuckles and outright smirks, his voice low when he says, “As a matter of fact, darlin’, I haven’t come here yet at all,” leaning into his accent, his eyebrow raising at the innuendo. Jim forgives him for how bad it is, if only for how Bones looks and _sounds_ when he says it, like sex itself; and no matter how much he memorizes, no matter how vivid the memory is later, nothing will ever come close to reproducing the experience.

He’s sprawled back on top of Bones in a second, Bones letting out a surprised grunt that Jim ignores, cuts off with a kiss, too consumed with needing to surround, be surrounded by Bones, by his _husband_ , a thought that just pushes his need further, higher; he groans into Bones’ mouth, gasps when Bones grabs his hips, hard. “Bones,” he mumbles between increasingly frantic kisses, groaning when Bones grinds against him. “ _Fuck_ , Bones-"

Bones laughs again, a barely audible sound but Jim feels his grin and before he realizes it, Bones’ hands have moved to the hem of his shirt and one of his legs has shifted out from between his own to wrap around his hips, pulling him down harder, and his brain goes to static around the time Bones says “My thoughts exactly,” in that same low, warm voice.

It isn’t until much, much later that the decorative pillows are put away, gathered from where they’ve been shoved across the bed and floor and finally stacked on the chair in the corner.

 

* * *

 

It starts with a flyer. 

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. It _starts_ with Leonard finally getting around to cleaning up the inbox in his personal mail; usually he’s content to read the important things and leave the rest, but occasionally he has enough free time and the right amount of impatience with how crowded it is that he sets an hour aside and clears it out.

He’s not sure what it is about the flyer that stuck to him, made him curious enough to stop and read it instead of keeping on sorting through the rest of the junk. But something about it hits him right square in the middle of _on this godforsaken tin can too long_ and pulls him in, and suddenly he’s spent five minutes staring at pictures of some new resort on a tropical planet at the ass-end of the quadrant – which just so happens to be right around where they’re headed. It’s the first and definitely _last_ time this mission will be anything approaching convenient, but he’ll take it.

Flicking through the pictures, there’s nothing that special about the resort itself. Sure, the architecture would probably impress someone who knew anything about things like that, with its sweeps and curves, but Leonard finds himself more interested in the area around it. The building sits right on the border between jungle and beach – the flyer promises “breathtaking views!” from either side, but it’s the beach that captures his attention. The water looks crystal clear and the sand is a pastel pink and he can see them there, himself and Jim, lounging on the sand, taking in the sun before going back to the water; or Jim pulling him away down the beach to explore, laughing at the way Leonard pretends to complain about it. He can see the way the sun bleaches Jim’s hair, drawing out a soft, golden blond that _shines_ in the right light.

The thing is, they’re being sent on a routine, two-month-long survey mission in that area soon, which promises to be anything but exciting. _The thing is_ , they’ve been married going on six months now and have barely had time to breathe, much less even think about going on a honeymoon. It’s been one thing after another, whether establishing treaties, narrowly avoiding being killed in any number of ways during first contact with every other species they come across, or doing chores for the Admiralty – and Leonard’s starting to miss monotony. There’s something to be said for knowing what to expect from one day to the next, especially if it means a guy can take a trip with his husband without being needed for some crisis or other.

Having gone through all of the photos and scrolled through the sparse text, Leonard marks the message so he can find it later and gets back to the task of going through the rest of his inbox. He’ll bring it up to Jim later and see what he says – and even if it doesn’t work out with this place in particular, a trip is definitely something to keep in mind. They’re liable to wear themselves out if they keep at the rate they’ve been going lately; a little rest could do them a lot of good.

Later that night, over dinner in their quarters, he asks “You ever think about taking a honeymoon?”, trying (and almost definitely failing) at sounding as casual as possible. Jim’s smile is immediate and blinding.

They book a room the next day.

 

* * *

 

The look on Jim’s face when he suggests a walk down to the beach late one night isn’t exactly promising.

“Sorry, I think I might have heard you wrong – you want to go _where_?” He quickly overcomes his initial surprise and moves right along to _delighted_ , and god dammit of course he’s going to make this into a _thing_.

Leonard sighs and grabs a blanket off the back of the couch. “Well excuse me for wanting to be romantic. Now are you coming or not?” He turns around to give Jim an exasperated look. The asshole’s still grinning.

“A romantic walk on the beach? Bones, I don’t know what to _say_ -”

“You could say nothing and get your ass moving-”

“-if I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to _woo_ me, Lieutenant Commander.”

Leonard rolls his eyes and can’t help but start to smile, Jim’s expression annoyingly infectious. “‘Woo’? Really? I’d say you’ve seen _Gone With the Wind_ one too many times, _Captain_. Are you coming or am I going to have to find another smartass to put up with?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Jim says, getting up out of the chair as slowly and dramatically as possible. Leonard rolls his eyes again – one of these days it’ll be one too many and he’ll be the first person ever hospitalized for superior rectus muscular strain – and turns to head out, ignoring the theatrics for his own sanity. Still, he takes his time walking to the elevators, and Jim catches up right as he reaches them, winding their fingers together and pressing a snickering kiss against his cheek.

They settle on a slow stroll once they’re out the front doors, both taking in the view as Leonard leads them onward. The hotel opens right onto the beach, looking untouched in the moonlight and stretching off to either horizon. There’s a small outcropping of rock a little ways down hiding a patch of sand – he’d discovered it a few days ago and it’s where he pulls Jim along to now, carefully setting down the blanket before making a vague ‘ta-da’ gesture.

Jim snorts. “Dr. McCoy, I think you are trying to woo me after all.”

“Why Captain, don’t you know I’m a married man?” he replies, mock-affronted, and the surprised laughter it gets out of Jim makes him grin. “Now c’mon, don’t waste a romantic gesture by just staring at it,” he says, before settling himself down, tugging Jim down with him.

It only takes a moment for them to get situated comfortably, laying back with Jim’s head on Leonard’s shoulder, his arms around Leonard’s waist. Jim stares up at the night sky, the stars in unfamiliar configurations pulling him in, away to wherever Jim Kirk’s mind goes when it’s contemplating the grand scale of the universe. Leonard ends up watching the reflection of them in Jim’s eyes; their bright blue gone dark in the night, like the sky itself, stars gleaming pinpricks of light across their depths.

He loses track of time – in Jim’s eyes, in the sound of the waves against the shore, in the smell of Jim’s hair when he closes his eyes and presses a lingering kiss against the top of his head. When Leonard lifts his head back up to shift into a position that won’t be murder on his neck, Jim tilts his head back to look him in the eyes and Leonard can’t find any reason not to give in to the temptation that always surfaces when Jim looks at him like that. So he does, a few shuffling movements before he’s laying over top of Jim, legs tangled together, bracing his weight with one arm above Jim’s head while his other hand seeks one of Jim’s where they’re already wandering under his shirt.

Leonard only takes a moment to look into Jim’s eyes before he closes his own and presses down to kiss the smile on Jim’s face; he briefly smiles into it himself before pulling Jim in deeper, pressing their clasped hands onto the blanket above his head, pushing into his space as much as he physically can. Jim’s fingers are cold where they settle in a grip on his side but they warm quickly from the heat of his own skin, pulling Leonard closer, across the microscopic spaces between them. He loses time in this and really can’t bring himself to care, losing his  sense of everything outside of Jim’s mouth, Jim’s body, Jim’s hand tightening, relaxing, clutching against his skin.

It’s a monumentally difficult thing, pulling away, and it happens in stages – the gradual adjustment from long, deep, lingering, to shorter, softer, until they’re simply sharing air, to finally pulling back, as much as he lets himself, to look into Jim’s eyes again.

“Hey,” Leonard murmurs, a sound from deep in his chest, and he smiles. Some of Jim’s hair has fallen across his forehead and for a moment, he considers doing something about it, but weighs his options and finds he’d rather keep holding Jim’s hand. Besides, there’s something deeply satisfying about leaving Jim’s hair messy and imperfect, and it’s not like he doesn’t still manage to look all kinds of incredible.

“Hey yourself,” Jim says, smiling back, a quiet upturn of his lips and crinkle around his eyes, the kind of smile that doesn’t need an intense presence to communicate true, genuine joy. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Leonard interrupts.

“Y’know, there is actually another piece of this romantic gesture that we’ve managed to gloss over.”

Jim lifts an eyebrow. “Really? And here I thought we’d covered all our bases. Or most of them, at least,” he says, and his smile widens as his eyebrow rises.

“You’re hilarious. First, we’re not having sex on a beach, and don’t give me that look. Second,” he sits up, settling on the blanket beside Jim and finally detangling their hands to reach into his back pocket, “we have this to get through.” As he finishes, he pulls out a flask, and Jim’s eyes widen.

The moment holds in a brief, perfect pause before Jim pulls himself up to sit, kissing Leonard’s grin briefly before taking the flask to examine it, the silver glinting softly in the moonlight.

“Feels like a lifetime ago,” Jim says, almost nostalgic, lost in thought as he stares at the flask in his hands. He breaks out of it a moment later, unscrews the cap and offers Leonard a lopsided smile before taking a drink and passing it back. Leonard considers it for a moment before taking a drink of his own, the bourbon sliding smooth down his throat.

“Yeah, guess it does.” It’s a time Leonard doesn’t usually let himself think about. It’s too easy to dwell on once he gets started, and years and distance have made that harder, hazier, but it’s a time he’s made his peace with and would rather let lie than dredge up.

“Bones,” Jim says softly, not a question or a lead-up, nothing but a simple statement. An affirmation. They share a look, a kiss, and a smile, and Jim rests his head against Leonard’s shoulder, Leonard’s arm sliding  automatically around Jim’s waist, and they sit like that as they share a drink and a view. They keep a quiet, comfortable silence as they pass the flask back and forth, and Leonard doesn’t realize he’s zoned out staring at the thing until Jim breaks the silence.

“Bones...” he says, uncertain, taking Leonard’s left hand where it sits on his side, tracing his fingers, the lines of his palm, his ring. “Do you... have any regrets?”

It’s a moment that makes Leonard realize just how much he’s had to drink, because his thoughts are a jumble swimming in the bourbon that’s all gone to his head. Or. Something like that. He wishes he could grab an immediate answer but getting a thought to stick is like throwing darts with an eye patch – and untangling drunken mixed metaphors is _not_ something he has the time or focus for. He rests his cheek against Jim’s head and holds him closer, leaving his hand surrendered to Jim’s fiddling.

“You know,” he starts, pulling his thoughts together as the words form in his mouth, “I really don’t.” Jim makes a little ‘hm’ noise that he takes as encouragement to continue. “I used to. I regretted a lot of things, held onto it for a good long while too. But...” he trails off as Jim’s fingers still on his hand. Leonard curls his fingers between Jim’s and continues, “But I don’t. Regret’s a heavy thing to carry around, and in the end I think, if everything I’ve done, if all the choices I’ve made all brought me here, how could I possibly in my right mind regret any of it?”

In what feels like an instant, Jim’s holding his face in his hands, smiling, looking amazed, the same look he gets when he talks about the beauty of the universe but it’s directed at _him_ – and then he’s pulling Leonard in for a kiss that manages to melt every piece of him through and through, his head to his heart to his toes. He grabs Jim’s hips to keep himself grounded but has the delayed realization that he can use that, pull Jim closer, so he does. Jim laughs into his mouth and moves to straddle his lap, but the bourbon’s dutifully stripped them of all grace and the motion sends them both tumbling down in a tangle of limbs and blanket. They’re both giggling like idiots about it when they manage to coordinate another kiss, and another, and eventually the only remains of their laughter is in their smiles.

“Leonard McCoy, you old romantic,” Jim says, quietly, wonder still in his eyes. A raise of his eyebrow and he adds, “What, you’re not going to run out on me, find a shuttle somewhere with some pretty young thing you can threaten to puke on?”

“Jim,” he sighs, “if I wanted to up my chances of an early heart attack, I’d buy Jo a motorcycle, not chase after some idiot half my age with a death wish.” It occurs to him that the bite of the remark is more or less completely undercut by the way he’s grinning, but he lets the thought go and presses his lips to the side of Jim’s jaw. “‘Sides, I’m lucky enough that worked the first time,” he mumbles against Jim’s skin. The kiss it gets him wastes no time in clearing his brain of rational thought, offering instead an intensity he gladly sinks into.

He knows, in the very back of his mind, that they can’t stay much longer, woven around each other, making out like teenagers. But for a while, he can pretend it’s forever; just them, the stars, and the shore, a soft, simple, perfect moment, stretching on through eternity.

 

* * *

 

It feels almost luxurious, waking up like this – to the deepening warmth of a sun on his face and not the blare of an alarm; to the unique soft, stiff lightness of hotel sheets and not the Starfleet regulation ones that he’s so used to they barely have a texture anymore; to the faint sighs of the ocean and not the ever-present drone of the ship. His eyes still closed, Jim feels out to his side and frowns when he finds nothing but empty mattress. The only piece missing from this picture is, of course, the most important: Bones, lying next to him where Jim can wrap himself around him and fall back asleep.

Jim is pretty sure he still manages to fall asleep at that point, because the next thing that registers is a kiss pressed to his forehead and a jumble of words, indistinct through the sleepy haze he’s fallen into, starts mentally pulling himself out of. He doesn’t so much ask a question as grunt with a bit of an inflection but, well, Bones gets it. There’s a warm laugh from somewhere above and beside him – flailing his arm out gets him a handful of Bones’ hip, which he gladly takes, tucking his thumb into the waistband of Bones’ pyjama pants.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Bones says, and there’s still the glow of laughter to his voice. “Want some coffee?”

At the mention of coffee, Jim finally opens his eyes. Bones is standing above him, arms crossed over his bare chest – all he’s wearing is an old pair of pyjama pants, lopsided on his hips from where Jim’s thumb is tucked around the elastic. Jim slides his hand a little lower, revealing an extra inch of skin, just because he can.

“And what should I take that as?” Bones asks, and Jim realizes he’s been staring at the skin of Bones’ hip, darker than usual against his own thumb from all the sun they’ve been getting. It suits him.

“Mmm. Coffee,” Jim mumbles out, blinking sleepily up at Bones, just long enough to take in the fond gaze and raised eyebrow before directing his attention back to the matter at hand – so to speak.

“You gonna let me go get it or were you planning on fiddling with my pants all morning?”

“Hm. Dunno.” He starts tracing circles in Bones’ skin, and gets momentarily distracted by a freckle. “Weighing my options.”

Bones laughs again and covers Jim’s hand with one of his own. “I see. How about I go get your coffee while you make up your mind, then?” He detaches Jim’s fingers from where they’ve wrapped up in the fabric of his pants one by one, ending at his thumb, unhooking it with his own. He gives Jim’s hand a squeeze and moves to leave, but Jim tightens his grip and tugs lightly.

“Wait,” he says, dragging himself up to sit and pulling Bones closer in the same movement, leveraging against his grip on Bones’ hand. They meet halfway for a kiss, a simple press of lips that pulls him the rest of the way into the morning. Bones is smiling when he moves back and this time, Jim lets him go when he pulls away, leaving Jim with his own smile and a pretty great view. He watches the space of the doorway for a moment after Bones disappears, then scrubs his hands over his face.

Fifteen minutes and a hot shower later, Jim – in boxer-briefs and one of Bones’ old t-shirts – wanders out of the bedroom and towards the little kitchenette, where Bones is bustling around the stovetop. There’s a mug of coffee sitting pointedly on the corner of the counter closest to the bedroom door, and Jim smiles around the sip he takes as he watches Bones flip pancakes and poke bacon around a pan. Bones has, unfortunately, put on a shirt since Jim stepped in the shower, but his hair is in its characteristic morning chaos. One time Jim compared it to a particularly graceless bird caught mid-takeoff, which sparked a tickle war that left them breathless, itself inspiring a series of kisses that left them even more so. It’s a good memory, one that sits warm in his chest, it and the coffee warding off the almost unpleasant chill of the air conditioning from his still-shower-warm skin while he watches Bones’ back.

He’s downed half his mug when the cold starts to get to him, the warmth leaving the mug the more he drinks, the porcelain almost cold against his hands, and at that point it’s obvious that there’s really only one solution to his problem. So he sets the rest of his coffee down and shuffles over to Bones, plastering himself to his back, hands snaking under the fabric of Bones’ shirt then under his waistband so they sit on his hips, his nose pressed to Bones’ neck.

“You been fondling ice cubes or something?” Bones grumbles, but he doesn’t pull away, simply adjusts his bustling to accommodate being clung to.

Jim huffs out most of a laugh at the question, presses a kiss to the fabric in front of his mouth. “Have I _what_?”

“You heard me. Or do all you northerners carry winter around with you?” He knows the exact kind of smile Bones is wearing, the same one he gets every time he makes a crack about ‘you northerners’, playing up his Southern-ness to a ridiculous degree. This particular jibe makes Jim snort, though – because as _if_ Bones doesn’t carry the Georgia summer in his skin, the way he radiates heat like Jim’s own personal sun.

Instead of answering, he asks, “Why’d you put on a shirt?”, sliding his right hand up to fiddle with the offending fabric, pushing the hem up along his side, then back down, then back up. He falls into a slow, unintentional rhythm, enthralled by the way Bones’ muscles twitch and flutter along his ribs.

Bones grunts and squirms a little when Jim hits a ticklish spot; Jim grins into his shoulder. “For some reason I was more worried about getting hot grease spat on my bare torso than being your eye candy,” he says, taking the pan off the burner and splitting the bacon between two waiting plates. “Fancy that,” he grumbles, barely audible, but Jim can still hear the smile in his voice.

There’s an awkward shuffle as Bones finishes the last of the pancakes, moving from the stovetop to stand in front of the counter, but he doesn’t make any move to shove him off so Jim stays where he is, one hand resting on Bones’ hip and the other still tracing his side, his thumb sliding over the ridges of his ribs. A moment passes while Bones dishes up the pancakes, then he’s turning in Jim’s arms until they’re nose-to-nose – Jim’s hands resettle on Bones’ hips and Bones’ hands come up to hold Jim’s face, pulling him into a slow, lazy kiss. Jim crosses the half-step that brings them as close as possible, their bodies pressed together in essentially a single, continuous point of contact as he loses himself in the feeling of Bones’ lips, Bones’ tongue against his own.

They pull away in increments, only far enough to rest their foreheads together, and when Jim mumbles “Good morning to you too,” the laugh it gets from Bones has him grinning. He tilts his head forward again, kissing the curve of Bones’ smile, the corner of his mouth, down his jaw; soft, purposeful presses of lips against skin that he takes his time with, lingering even against the prickle of Bones’ stubble.

“Not that I’m not enjoying this,” Bones says, sighing as Jim reaches the spot on his throat that drives him crazy, one hand clutching at the fabric of Jim’s shirt at his shoulder and the other tangling itself in Jim’s hair. Jim smiles into Bones’ neck when he clears his throat to continue. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, but I didn’t get up to make you pancakes just so they could go cold on the counter.”

Jim hums and kisses further down Bones’ neck, finally pulling away when he reaches his collar. “To be continued, then,” he murmurs, taking in how Bones’ eyelashes fan across his cheeks, giving into the whim to press a quick kiss to Bones’ barely-parted lips. He smiles into the longer kiss that follows when Bones chases him as he pulls away, sinking into it for a moment before moving away again, taking a step back at the same time.

“‘To be continued’, he says,” Bones grumbles, ruffling Jim’s hair – laughing at the sound Jim makes, which definitely isn’t a _squawk_ – before letting his hands fall. Jim takes a second to flatten his hair back down, pointedly ignoring Bones’ eye-roll, though he turns to watch Bones’ ass as he walks away with their plates.

The chill of the air starts to register again, with the loss of Bones’ body pressed against his – and if he takes it as an excuse to pull Bones back to bed to cuddle after breakfast, well, it isn’t like Bones is complaining about it.

 

* * *

 

Bones is the earth and the grass and, somehow, the steady hum of cicadas on a perfect summer day. He smells like sunshine, as cheesy as Jim feels for the thought – but he does, always, even when they’ve been cooped up on the ship for too long. And Jim checks, nestling his nose into the crook of Bones’ neck as often as is convenient. Call it scientific curiosity; which he does, in fact, one time, and Bones’ laugh is brighter than any sun in any sky.

It’s something he thinks about a lot at times like this, when they get too much sun. It doesn’t do much to Jim, really, besides giving him a hell of a burn if he isn’t careful, but Bones _tans_ – and not only that, but it brings his freckles out in droves, to the point where he has constellations dotted across his shoulders and cheeks. Bones grumbles about how handsy he gets but Jim just shuts him up with a kiss and besides, he knows how Bones loves the attention. Jim could spend days – _does_ spend hours – straddling Bones on the bed, tracing his fingers along his shoulder blades, sweeping his palms down Bones’ biceps.

He has Bones’ body mapped by heart now, every inch of it as much a part of him as anything; he knows exactly where to press his lips on the back of Bones’ neck to get him to sigh, he knows where knots tend to form in the muscle, where to press with his thumbs to get Bones to groan. Bones is always – for lack of a better term – _boneless_ by the time Jim’s done, rolling him over to kiss him and press his nose into his neck, taking deep breaths of the smell of Bones and sunshine while Bones chuckles, a soft rumble in his chest that Jim feels against his own, Bones’ fingers making their way to run through his hair.

And though he does spend time checking in with the _Enterprise_ , it’s mostly messaging Spock for updates on how things are going with the survey and confirming the details of their next mission; Bones does his fair share of work, too, sneaking checks of supply rosters and bugging Engineering about equipment maintenance. The longer they spend away, though, the less time they devote to work and the more they devote to each other, an odd hour on PADDs here and there becoming half an hour in the evenings, becoming fifteen minutes every other day. It’s easy to forget about work on lazy, golden afternoons spent making out aimlessly on the couch, or while dozing together in the soft safety of their bed in the mornings, or when evening walks become chasing each other into the shower when they’re caught in a sudden storm.

There are times when Jim is- there’s no single word for the feeling evoked by coming back to the thought that they’re _married_ ; ‘humbled’ comes close, ‘awed’ even closer, but they’re still both too small to completely capture the breadth of the feeling that spreads through his chest every time he looks at his wedding ring. It’s something he dwells on more as the days pass, and slowly he learns to let the feeling last longer, learns to move past the initial sharp spike of old fears come to tell him that _this won’t last_ because the thing is that it absolutely _will_ – they’ve made that promise to themselves, to each other, carrying it with them every day now.

Slowly, surely, he learns to let it linger, to let it lend a hazy warmth to every moment he spends together with Bones, because if there’s ever going to be a time where he just lets himself be happy, it’s damn well going to be on his honeymoon.

 

* * *

 

Leonard isn’t entirely sure, at first, what it is that wakes him. He reaches consciousness slowly, his mind dragging itself out of the dream he was having – and can’t quite remember, now, only a few sparse images sticking around. He remembers space, and silence, a feeling almost like dread, but these snapshots fade away to nothing as he registers the way Jim’s curled into him, his muscles a little too tense, his hand a little too tight on Leonard’s hip.

“Hey,” he mumbles, his voice rough. He clears his throat before starting again, smoothing his hand up and down Jim’s back as he does. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Jim tenses a little more before sighing, shuffling even closer, pressing his face further into Leonard’s neck. “Just a nightmare, s’fine, go back to sleep.”

“Nah, I’m good,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of Jim’s head, moving his hand up and down Jim’s back still, a rhythm he hopes is soothing. Jim relaxes a little after a moment, and Leonard figures that’s as good a confirmation as any. “Wanna talk about it?” he asks, his voice muffled slightly by Jim’s hair; he considers repeating himself, worried Jim didn’t hear him until he shrugs, almost imperceptibly.

“Not really. It wasn’t... It was just old stuff anyway.”

“Okay.” He kisses the top of Jim’s head again, his hand still moving – he takes every inch of lost tension as a victory, every muscle he can feel relax against his hand a triumph, because if he can’t help Jim with words, well, he always has his hands.

Jim laughs a little, shakily, against his neck, a puff of warm breath on his skin. “God, Bones, you’re...” He trails off, ending the thought with a kiss pressed lightly against Leonard’s neck; followed soon by others up his throat and jaw as Jim shifts upwards, murmuring “You’re...” against his lips before giving up on the thought again in order to kiss him.

It’s a light press of their lips, only lasting a few seconds before Jim’s pulling away, leaning their foreheads together. Leonard kisses the corner of his mouth, smiling when he feels Jim’s lips tug up into a smile of their own.

“Think you were saying something about me there, darlin’,” he says, smile growing at the soft laughter it earns him.

“You’re everything, Bones,” Jim says, his voice soft, and whatever Leonard was expecting, it wasn’t _that_ – it tugs at his heart, pulling at it so much that he’s stunned, staring at the glimmer of Jim’s eyes in the dark. Jim’s hand finally unclenches from his hip to cup his face and it’s the dissolution of the final bit of tension in his body, the last physical response to his nightmare finally leaving him. He pulls Leonard back in to kiss him again, holding him in it for a long moment, Leonard anchoring himself it against the wave of adoration in his chest. It’s Jim again who ends it, looking into Leonard’s eyes in the dim light provided by the planet’s twin moons, filtering in through the curtains.

“‘Darest thou now, O Soul, walk out with me toward the Unknown Region, where neither ground is for the feet, nor any path to follow?’” Jim recites, as his fingers trace slowly – _reverently_ , if he’ll let himself think it – across Leonard’s cheekbone, down his jaw, up again. “‘No map there, nor guide, nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand, nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land.’” Jim’s hand stills and he looks up, then, into Leonard’s eyes – looking for something, comprehension of the thousand things he’s saying, maybe, or maybe the thing that sits just on the other side of wordless, curled low in Leonard’s chest. He smiles softly, the smallest movement of his mouth and Jim looks suddenly so raw from it that it _aches_. So he holds Jim’s face in his own hands, keeps them still and firm, and pulls him into the kind of molasses-slow kiss that melts from the outside in.

He doesn’t so much pull away as stop the kiss, his lips brushing against Jim’s as he asks “What do you need?”. Leonard slides his thumb across Jim’s brow where it’s furrowed, and his own breath is a steady counterpoint to the way Jim’s stutters in the space between them, the space into which he repeats the question, whispering “What do you need?” before lightly kissing Jim again.

Jim lets out a shuddering sigh as he whispers “You, Bones, I- just you,” before pulling Leonard forward into another kiss.

Without breaking the contact, Leonard takes his hands from Jim’s face, using them to manoeuvre them both until Jim’s on his back with Leonard braced over him. Jim’s legs automatically wrap around his waist and it makes him smile, mumbling “Hang on, darlin’,” coaxing them down long enough to get his pants down and off. Jim’s legs are back around him almost immediately, and he takes a second to take Jim’s growing erection in his hand, relishing the quiet gasp it earns him. He pulls his hand away almost regretfully after a few strokes, quickly kissing Jim before he can complain.

He stretches over Jim then, reaching and flailing his hand along the side table until he has the lube before relaxing back down into Jim’s embrace, managing to get his own pants off in a few shuffling movements. Jim grinds up against him in a move he should really be less surprised by, and it’s more than a little distracting.

“Hey there,” Jim says, already sounding a little rough, wrapping a hand around them both and kissing Leonard’s jaw when he grunts.

“Hey yourself.” He grinds into the sensation for a moment before gently pulling Jim’s hand away, leaning back slightly. “Things’re liable to get more interesting if you’re patient,” he says, wasting no time in getting lube on his fingers, cutting off any reply Jim was intending to make by slowly circling Jim’s hole with his index finger before sliding it inside.

He takes his time, starting with one finger and slowly making his way to three – it’s a pace he calls _measured_ and Jim calls _excruciating_ , not that he’s in much of a state to complain at that moment, gasping and writhing, moaning when Leonard angles his fingers just right. He could watch Jim like this forever, the way his lips move around the noises he’s making; the way his back arches as his hips grind down against Leonard’s fingers and up, fruitlessly, seeking friction; the way the moonlight shines against the faint sheen of sweat on his chest, or his throat as he tilts his head back. He leans back over Jim, kissing his throat and down his chest, closing his eyes against the way Jim groans his name in response.

“Beautiful,” Leonard mumbles against Jim’s skin, repeating it when Jim gasps, a noise almost like a whine catching in his throat.

“Please, Bones,” he whispers, clutching at Leonard’s shoulder with one hand, the other sliding down Leonard’s arm – seeking his hand, he belatedly realizes, hitting him that it’s his _left_ a moment later. He shifts, pulling away to hold himself over Jim again so he can lace their fingers together, resting his weight back on his left hand, now tangled with Jim’s right, somewhere beside Jim’s head on the mattress. “ _Please_ ,” Jim repeats, his eyes screwed shut, legs around Leonard’s waist pulling him down.

“Okay, baby, I got you,” he says, pressing soft kisses against Jim’s jaw as he pulls his fingers out, slicking and positioning himself before wiping them on the sheets. He pushes in slowly – Jim’s fingers tighten around his own as he does, his free hand sliding up to the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss they both groan into.

He pulls back from the kiss a little once he’s bottomed out, staying still for a moment to let Jim adjust as they pant against each other’s mouths. He starts to ask if Jim’s okay, getting halfway through ‘are’ before Jim interrupts him, almost growling when he says “ _Fuck me_ , Bones,” before pulling him back down into a bruising kiss.

Leonard groans into Jim’s mouth as he starts to move, building a slow, patient rhythm – he knows it’ll drive Jim crazy, and it’s partially for that, but it’s partially for himself, a small piece of him feeling selfish for it but wanting to draw this out as long as he can, this physical act of loving Jim, of being loved by him.

Sure enough, Jim’s fingers shift back down from Leonard’s neck to grasp at his shoulder, curling around it and clutching at his skin as Jim gasps, mumbling a litany of _please, Bones, more, please_ , an almost incoherent jumble of words between whimpers and moans, his hips pushing desperately back against Leonard’s. For his part, Leonard places his free hand beneath Jim, at the small of his back, steadying him while pressing light kisses to his lips – sometimes managing to hit them, sometimes not, as Jim continues to mindlessly ask for _more, please_.

And it isn’t long, really, before Leonard obliges, Jim’s pleading digging through him until he’s adjusting the angle of their hips, pulling up with the hand on Jim’s back; Jim’s legs tighten like a vice around him, the noises he’s making losing all semblance of shape or purpose when they get it just right. Jim’s desperation feeds his own, pushing him to move harder, faster within him, murmuring comforting nothings against Jim’s lips – _that’s it_ and _so good, baby_ and _c’mon now_ , his voice low and rough in his throat.

Leonard moves his free hand to wrap around Jim’s cock, moving on it in an almost-match to the rhythm of his thrusts as he mumbles “C’mon, darlin’” – not a moment later and Jim’s swallowing a whine, squeezing their still-joined hands and pulling Leonard down into an artless kiss as he comes.

It isn’t long before Leonard himself follows, his own orgasm creeping up on him and bowling him over before he realizes it’s there – one-two-three thrusts and he’s gone, sparks crackling behind his eyes. He’s faintly aware of Jim kissing him softly, a small pinpoint of contact that he uses to fall back into himself, kissing back after a moment.

He grimaces and Jim grunts as he pulls out. “Stay,” Jim says, before he starts to pull away to stand up and find something to clean them off with; and he can’t argue when Jim’s voice sounds like that, tiredly satisfied and just this side of wrecked. Still, he lowers Jim’s legs from his waist, pulling his left hand finally free so he can massage Jim’s hips and thighs on each side.

“You okay?” he asks, breaking far enough away from the kiss that he can look into Jim’s eyes – and see his smile, as it happens, which is a pretty alright benefit.

“Perfect,” Jim says, somewhere between a sigh and a purr, making Leonard grin. “We should do this every time I have a nightmare.”

Leonard laughs. “Careful there, or you’ll start wanting to have them.”

“Hmm, good point. Maybe I should just wake my husband up in the middle of the night more often.”

“See, now there’s an idea,” Leonard says, chuckling as he leans back down for a kiss. “Though I can’t promise he’ll always react so well to it.”

“No?” Leonard can just make out the shape of Jim’s smile in the dark as he carefully rolls back down onto his side, pulling Jim with him so they’re facing each other. “What’s the key there, doctor?”

“Asking him to fuck you’s a start.”

“Noted,” Jim says, before resting a hand on Leonard’s face, kissing him once more and sighing into it.

After they part, Jim shuffles, pulling at Leonard’s limbs and shifting around until their legs are tangled together, their arms around each other, Jim’s face pressed into his neck again – an echo of earlier, Leonard thinks, though Jim’s significantly more relaxed, a point he notices with not a small amount of self-satisfaction. His tiredness catches up with him quickly, the steady feeling and sound of Jim’s breathing lulling him towards sleep before he has a chance to notice it.

“I love you,” Jim whispers into his neck as he hits the teetering edge of consciousness. “‘Till, when the ties loosen, all but the ties eternal, Time and Space, nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds bound us.’”

The words bleed together into the haze of sleep descending on Leonard’s mind, but he gets the gist eventually, he thinks. He hopes the way he mumbles “Love you too, darlin’,” is audible, recognizable as words, but well. Jim will get what he means.

Sleep envelops him then, and when he dreams of space it’s nothing more than the air between his hand and Jim’s, crossed in a heartbeat and held fast.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem Jim's reciting from is indeed also 'Darest Thou Now, O Soul' by Walt Whitman.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://thingbe.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi. Thanks for reading!


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